


Rat in a Trap by Barb G.

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-31
Updated: 1999-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek at his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rat in a Trap by Barb G.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Suzanne for such a fast beta-job. This comes just before the episode The End. Spoiler alert! Not my boy, and if Krycek actually was mine, I would take much better care of him.

The car door opened and the man let himself in. Always so neat, so tidy. He didn't have a name either... none of them had a name, actually. It must be nice. Reach a certain level in the organization, and they give you the gift of invisibility.

They don't give it to the likes of me, though. 'Alex, do this', 'Alex, kill him', 'Alex, bury this problem'. Lackey-assassin-driver. One hell of a resume.

The tidy man put his hand on my thigh.

I forgot to add my other very special talents. His fingers were long and manicured, meticulously taken care of, like the rest of him. It stayed on my inner thigh, half way up from my knee. I stared at it rather than at the stream of traffic I was trying to slip into.

This one wasn't so bad. He liked to watch his hand around my cock, jerking me off when we were alone. He found anal sex distasteful, and I wasn't complaining. Not like the fat fuck with the whiny voice. The smoker gave me to him once and it took almost two weeks for my ass to heal. Being spanked with a bare hand was bad enough, but the sicko used a fucking hairbrush. Humiliating, and it hurt like hell. I would have killed him, but he didn't have a name and I did. Even the smoking bastard seemed almost apologetic after that one. He stopped sharing me, at least. For a few months.

I pulled behind the last car and drove the tidy one to the airport. It was cold enough for him to pull his coat closer to his body as I took his bag out of the trunk. At least he packed light. But then, realistically, they didn't use me because of my porter skills. I checked him in; coach had a line snaking through the barrier maze, but none of these men ever actually flew with the people.

The woman at the counter smiled at me, and I looked at her blankly. Fucking sheep, they had no idea. The tidy one pulled out two tickets from his inside pocket and it surprised me. I hadn't been told I was going to accompany him.

The car was parked in short term parking, but that wasn't my responsibility. I followed the man into the first class lounge and brought him back a martini. I got myself a beer. "Do not drink that," the man said, taking a sip of his drink.

I cursed silently, pushing it away. I had forgotten he doesn't like it when my breath smells of alcohol. Less kinky than the others, but more controlling. I wasn't sure I liked the trade off. The man sipped at his drink and then glanced at his watch. "It's going to be a long flight. Alex?"

I nodded and stood up. The men's washroom was done in oak and false marble. I pushed into one of the black door stalls, undid my jeans, and pulled them past my thighs. I waited with my hands behind my head. I wasn't turned on, and I stared at my limp cock. It wasn't about bringing me off, and I knew that. It was about making me wait, like this, for him.

Ego stroking taken to a new level. I sighed and turned my head.

The door opened, but I couldn't see who entered the washroom. My stall's door wasn't closed completely, and I held my breath as the man walked past the rows of empty stalls and pushed inside. He didn't say anything, but glanced down to my cock and smiled. I glanced down as well, and then looked back up at him. He stepped into me and held out his hand. I took the hand cream out of my pocket and smeared some on his palm. I gave him a little extra, knowing that he liked the excess.

He wrapped his cold hands around me, and began jerking me manually. I turned my head away, rocking it against the wall.

"Alex, you disappoint me," the man said. "We have a plane to catch."

I made a face, but tried to concentrate on getting hard. I thought of my first girlfriend in high school and our clumsy gropes in the back of her dad's car, but stopped trying to fool myself and thought of instead my college roommate. I hadn't lasted two years in post-secondary, but Phil's tongue taught me more than I ever needed to know for this job.

That helped. Phil had loved to eat me. The tidy man's fingers on my balls did nothing but hold them up to my body, and he didn't mind me moving my hand down so that I could touch the seam. I arched my back, thrusting into his hand. "Please," I whispered. "For fuck sake, please."

"Silence, Alex. I don't like you talking during this, and keep those hips still."

"Sorry," I muttered. Phil's tongue...Phil's fingers...Mulder...

The thought made me cold. I pushed him away unthinking, just to clear my head, and the Tidy man's hand tightened on my cock. The pain was instant and blinding. I threw myself back against the wall and offered him my body. The man took my apology, and finished me off quickly. I came into his hand and licked off the cum from his palm. The tidy man zipped me up and patted my groin. "Very good, Alex." He smeared the left over hand cream onto my cheek and rubbed it in.

I waited for him to leave and took twice as long to wash my hands.

 

I sank down into my chair and did up the seat belt. The man admonished me once for slouching, and I straightened up. The stewardess came around with the champagne, and the man took one. I licked my lips, suddenly thirsty, and the man noticed up. "Yes, you may have one," he said.

The woman looked at me oddly, but then took in the man's suit and affluence compared to my leather jacket and jeans, and I could see that she thought she understood.

She looked away and served the next set of chairs. I drained my drink and then tried to sleep. It wasn't much of a nap. Every cough or jingle of the meal cart woke me up again. It was hard to relax without being in a locked and secured room. Alone, with a gun in my hand. Safety on, of course. I'm not that paranoid.

I hadn't been back to Washington for three months. Customs was interesting; they pulled me into a routine check, but found nothing on me. The tidy man was upset at having to wait, but I picked up his suitcase without saying a word.

The meeting was in a hotel room. I glanced at the bed, but took my place in the background. They wouldn't need me until they decided what they wanted done about it.

The discussion lasted most of the night. I listened to most of it and ignored the looks that the whiny spanker gave me. I looked away from him. Tidy man noticed the glances and frowned at me. He needed the spanker's support. I stood up, took a bottle of whiskey from the wet bar, and reclaimed my seat.

Him. They were bringing him back. He was dead, or he was supposed to be. Nothing either the tidy man or the whiney spanker had done equaled what the smoker could do. I don't take things personally, but when I heard he was dead, I was thrilled. Only now he wasn't dead and I was supposed to bring him back. Fuck.

The meeting ended. The tidy man glanced at me as the room started to empty. "Tomorrow morning. Quebec. You'll parachute in."

I nodded. The spanker glanced at me again, and my skin crawled. "Take care of things here," the tidy man said.

I suppressed the shudder and nodded. The tidy man left us alone and closed the door.

"I was starting to think you were avoiding me," the spanker said, moving next to me. His voice grated against me.

"I am avoiding you," I said. He put both hands on my knees and spread them apart. His hand slid up and under, and I winced as he forced his finger against me.

"Strip," he ordered.

I stood up and removed my jacket. "You can't do this," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "I have a job to do tomorrow. I can't--"

"Naked, Alex."

My shirt joined my jacket, and I stripped off my jeans.

"Bed."

He had nothing in his hands, and I tried to convince myself that that was good. I knelt on the bed, and he motioned me to lie back. I did so, and he picked up my legs. I hate being manipulated. It had been a long time since I'd been fucked. But he didn't want any participation from me. I lay back, tucking the pillow under my head, and let his squat little body take me. He wore a condom, and he was quick. The man patted my cheek with his fat fingers and left me on the bed. The tidy man passed him in the doorway.

"That wasn't too hard, was it?"

I sat up, reaching for my jeans. "Is that it or did you want some?" I asked.

The tidy man pointed to the carpet at his feet. I got off the bed, letting my jeans fall from my fingers. I contemplated how easy it would be to snap his neck. His eyes widened slightly, ready to take a step back, but I dropped to my knees like an obedient little whore. His hands shook slightly as he undid his slacks and rolled on the condom. The talcum powder made me gag, but I took the rubber in my mouth. It chaffed my lips as I sucked on it.

The man came into the rubber. I knotted it off and cleaned his penis off with my mouth. He touched my ear. "You will still be mine, Alex," he said, and the softness in his voice almost passing for fondness. I would have bitten him if he had touched me.

I was nothing but a trophy for these men. There were others like me, but none of them were passed around from keeper to keeper. One day I will kill them all.

My ass was still open from the lubrication and the fucking. I turned my head, closed my eyes, and slept. Morning came too quickly.

I didn't know the guy they teamed me with, and I felt nothing as his body fell to the side. I headed for the high ground. The smoker was old and I outdistanced him easily. One shot, in the air. Not into the back of his skull where the bullet belonged. I could have shot him then, but I wanted him to know who I was. I pulled off my mask so he'd see me before I killed him. "Go on! Take your shot, Alex."

My name again. If I killed him they would kill me, and it would be a lot slower than a single bullet wound in the middle of Canada. "I was..." I shouted, and then faltered. Killing this man would feel good, but I couldn't do it. The punishment would be extreme, even for them. They had shaped me to be an obedient rat, first. The ultimate test of loyalty, and I would pass from fear alone. I eased my finger off the trigger. "...sent to bring you back," I finished, lamely.


End file.
